


For As Long As You Have Time

by alexanger



Series: Casual Affair [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, more sin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 02:50:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7341586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alexanger/pseuds/alexanger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Burr rolls into his office fifteen minutes early and stops dead at the sight of flowers on his desk. There’s a card attached to one stem. All that’s written on it is the word “Princess.” He really should have added, “definitely not from Thomas Jefferson.”</p>
<p>[Please check out <a href="http://beansterpie.tumblr.com/post/148113694216/he-really-should-have-added-definitely-not-from">this relevant gorgeous art</a> drawn by my friend Bean who is probably a wizard]</p>
            </blockquote>





	For As Long As You Have Time

Burr rolls into his office fifteen minutes early and stops dead at the sight of flowers on his desk.

He allows himself an indulgent smile as he sits. Honestly, this is the polar opposite of stealthy - it’s a potted orchid, three stems of purple blooms arching gracefully over his desk. There’s a card attached to one stem. All that’s written on it is the word “Princess.” He really should have added, “definitely not from Thomas Jefferson.”

_Why, Thomas,_ he imagines saying. _I never took you for a romantic._

As he starts up his computer, he notices there’s a message waiting in his inbox.

 

**From** : tjefferson@usa.gov  
**To** : aburr@usa.gov  
**Subj** : Dinner meeting?  
**Message:  
** I feel like we didn’t finish our business. I realize that it is unfair of me to ask you to do so much work outside the office but you are, after all, my right hand man. Please meet me at my home tonight, same time as yesterday, and prepare for lengthy deliberation.

\- TJ  
_The ladder of success is best climbed by stepping on the rungs of opportunity. - Ayn Rand_

 

What can he do but say yes?

 

It’s the same routine. He finishes his work at five o’clock, drives home in a daze, showers and preens and grooms until he looks impeccable. This time he doesn’t forget the skin conditioner. He is perfect, he is flawless, he is anxious as fuck.

He had woken up to an empty bed. His internal clock wakes him every morning at 7 am - not terribly late, considering he is expected at the office by nine daily - and Thomas was already out of bed and nowhere to be seen. Jefferson had left a note, though. It was about as short and abrupt as Burr would have expected.

_You sleep far too late. See you at the office. - T ❤️_

The heart was a surprise.

Anyway, Burr had dressed in last night’s suit (thank goodness he’d had the foresight to change after work), accepted a cup of coffee from Jefferson’s kitchen staff, and taken himself to work, feeling very dazed by everything that had happened.

And if he spent the day half-absorbed by thoughts of Jefferson’s lips?

Well, who needed to know?

The motions of grooming are familiar and reassuring. He inhales as he strokes his razor down his face, he exhales as he rinses it under water so hot it almost burns when he puts the blades back against his cheek. Each breath releases a little more tension. Burr’s stomach slowly unknots itself.

_You woke up in his bed, why are you so - ?_

He can’t release the idea that maybe he’s just - a mistake. Something for Jefferson to toy around with. He’s no stranger to affairs, at least since Theo passed. But this one seems different; they see each other every day, and if it means nothing, surely Jefferson would find someone somewhere else? Someone with no strings to get tangled in?

But a man like Jefferson can do what he wants. A man like Jefferson breaks all the rules and builds new ones, and then breaks those ones too, just for good measure.

Burr nicks himself shaving. He watches the pinprick of blood well, just for a moment, and stops it neatly with tissue before it reaches the collar of his lavender shirt.

_Men like Thomas are all sharpness and edges. You would do well to remember that_ , he reminds himself, mutely staring at his perfectly blank expression in the mirror.

 

Showing up the night before at 6:45 made sense. It was respectful. It doesn’t make sense to show up tonight at quarter past six. It’s eagerness, plain and unattractive. It’s the kind of thing a child does when chasing a crush. There were ways he could have delayed; shit, he needs gas, he should have gone to fill up. He could have brought a bottle of wine and here he is, arriving empty handed. Burr tries very hard not to feel shame at his lack of patience.

It’s not too late to turn around, find a liquor store, pick up a bottle and then come back. It won’t take 45 minutes but it’s better than pulling up to the gate.

He pulls up to the gate.

Fuck.

The routine of staff-lets-me-in-the-gate, staff-lets-me-in-the-house, staff-leads-me-to-the-man-I-desperately-lust-after is not familiar, not yet, but Burr thinks that it could very easily become familiar. He is entirely too formal. He thanks each employee profusely, and he has absolutely no doubt that they’re laughing at him behind his back. They must know he spent the night. How many other men, Burr wonders, do they do this for? Does Thomas have a harem of lovers all pining desperately under his thumb? Does he have a different boy each night? And who says it’s all boys, either? Maybe Thomas doesn’t care for gender. Maybe he just needs a willing hole to stick it in.

Burr feels like a hole. He feels empty and aches to be filled.

Patience, patience.

He knows he should have waited when he’s shown in to Jefferson’s office and he’s met with a blank stare.

“It’s not seven yet, is it?” Jefferson says, and Burr hears between the words: _I gave you an order and you fucked it up. Did you think we were equals here?_

“No, sir,” Burr says. “But I was in the neighbourhood so I thought it might not be a terrible imposition if I were to arrive early in order to begin our - discussions.”

“Ah.” Thomas props his elbows on his desk, tenting his fingers over his laptop. Burr feels his stomach flip over at the sight of those long-fingered hands. “Well, I have some work to finish up, if you don’t mind waiting for -” Thomas glances at the clock on his bookcase. “- half an hour?”

“Yes, sir,” Burr says. “May I?” he adds, gesturing to a pair of armchairs in one corner.

Thomas doesn’t answer for a moment. He slowly breaks into his leonine grin, predatory, hungry, ready to pounce. “Oh, no, I think not,” he purrs. “I have another place for you to sit. Although you may get yourself a cushion if you’d like. Anything to make you a little more comfortable.”

If he’s insinuating - “Where, sir?” Burr asks, breathless.

In response, Thomas pushes his chair back and gestures to the space under his desk. The panel at the back of the desk would entirely obscure Burr from view, and that’s tempting; it’s secret, and the thought of it stirs him. There’s barely room for Jefferson’s long legs; Burr is going to be cramped, and he’s willing to bet Jefferson hasn’t even changed from work, he won’t have showered -

He doesn’t hesitate to say, “yes, sir.”

He grabs a cushion from one of the armchairs and folds himself into the space. It’s tiny, there’s barely any headroom, and he realizes, as Thomas slides his chair forward again and puts his knees either side of Burr, that he’ll barely be able to move. His ass is pressed against the back panel and his knees are folded tight underneath him. His arms are free, though, and that is a small mercy.

There’s the sound of fingertips hitting keys, and Thomas asking, as if from a great distance, “comfortable, Princess?”

“Yes, sir,” Burr agrees, entirely too quickly. He needs to slow down. He forces himself to unbuckle Jefferson’s belt methodically, to pace himself while he unbuttons and unzips his pants.

“By the way, Burr? Love the colour of your shirt,” Thomas tells him, and that’s all the encouragement Burr needs to fumble Jefferson’s cock out of his shorts and get his mouth around it. He finds himself ridding himself of his restraint as he sucks; he moans, he slurps, and he pulls back every so often to lick from the base of Jefferson’s cock right up to the head, gasping and playing it up. Thomas doesn’t make any noise in response, save for the occasional whimper.

“I love the way you taste,” he pauses to say. That earns him a small jerk of Jefferson’s hips.

There’s a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Thomas calls, before Burr can tell him to wait.

There’s the sound of the door opening and footsteps ring on the hardwood floor. “The wine you ordered, sir,” says an unfamiliar voice. “The bottle and two glasses. I’m afraid the particular one you asked for was corked, but I found you one very similar - quite dry - I think it will be very much to your liking. Oh, has Mr Burr not arrived? I thought he had been led up here -”

“Mr Burr is indisposed at the moment,” Thomas says, and in that same moment he shifts his chair forward and his cock slides straight down Burr’s throat. Burr gags slightly and struggles to fight the urge to choke audibly. “I’m sure he’ll return very soon, so if you wouldn’t mind pouring.”

“Yes, sir,” says the second voice, and Burr can hear that subservient note he’s sure is present in his own voice every time he addresses Thomas. He sucks Jefferson hard in retaliation and he feels his chest swell with pride when Thomas shifts and clears his throat.

“Sir?”

“Nothing, Deacon. Please continue. Ignore me.”

“Very difficult, sir,” is the dry response. Burr likes this man.

It seems to take forever to pour two glasses of wine. Burr has decided to be nice; he is gentle with Jefferson’s cock, suckling softly at the tip, making long, slow passes with his lips up and down the shaft, and Thomas reaches a hand lazily beneath his desk and places it on Burr’s head. The long fingers that haunt Burr’s imagination rub his head like one might pet a cat; it is indulgent and kind, and entirely unnecessary. Burr decides to reward Jefferson for that later. His own hand has found its way into his boxers and he jacks himself desperately. He wants to come like this - tucked away, out of sight, just a mouth pleasing a man far greater than himself, unknown, unseen, anonymous. He wants to make a mess of himself and then show himself off once the servant has left. He wants to show Thomas his pristine purple shirt, sticky with his own spend, made disgusting, dirty and awful -

“Thank you, Deacon,” Jefferson says abruptly. “Please send word down that it’s likely to be another late night for me, and that if they haven’t started dinner yet, it’s best to hold off for an hour or two.”

“Yes, sir,” Deacon says, adding with just a hint of amusement in his voice, “please enjoy your wine, sir. You too, Mr Burr.”

Burr splutters and chokes as the door clicks to, and just like that he’s coming hard, covering the front of his shirt. He surprises himself with the strangled moan that escapes his mouth. Jefferson, in sharp contrast, is laughing, a deep, rolling laugh that rocks his whole body.

“I swear I didn’t plan any of that,” Thomas tells Burr as he allows Burr to emerge from under the desk. He throws his hands up in mock-surrender.

“I don’t particularly care if you did,” Burr responds, perching on Jefferson’s lap. “Do you do this all the time? Is this a regular occurrence? You have your sluts work for you under there?” He wants to be angry, but instead the thought of Thomas fucking countless eager mouths in such a hidden way has intrigued him.

“Not recently. Only you, Princess,” Thomas murmurs.

That gets him halfway hard again. He grinds against Jefferson, hanging obscenely out of his pants. “Do we really need wine right now?” he asks, aware that he must seem horribly desperate, aware that he doesn’t really care.

“I like my wine, Princess.”

Burr wraps his hand around both of them and jacks a couple times. He’s smaller than Jefferson, not as thick, but he loves the contrast between them. He loves the way they look pressed together. He loves the way a trail of his seed is trapped between their cocks, sticky and thick and absolutely not enough. He wants more.

“What I can do for you is better than wine,” he hears himself saying. He’s surprised by his boldness.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Thomas responded with annoyance or even anger, but there’s affection in Jefferson’s voice when he says, “you’re so fucking desperate for it, aren’t you? Isn’t it enough that you came all over yourself just now, Princess? You need more?”

“I need everything you can give me,” Burr tells him. “I want to eat you out, and then I want you to fuck me.”

He kisses Thomas hard, and when he pulls back, he’s surprised to see something almost like admiration in Jefferson’s eyes.

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Thomas whispers.

“I’m chasing what I want. Take me to bed,” Burr all but orders, and, wonder of wonders, Thomas obeys.

 

Thomas brings the wine with them. They drink it as they undress each other. When Thomas removes Burr’s shirt, he looks equal parts disgusted and delighted at the semen that smears under his hand.

“You made a huge mess of yourself, Princess,” Thomas says almost reverently.

“This is what you do to me,” Burr says, brazenly, challenging Thomas with his eyes to reply with anything but reciprocation. Instead of speaking, Jefferson chooses to kiss him. Thomas leans over him and Burr allows him to take charge, but the moment Jefferson breaks away to sip his wine, Burr kicks up a ruckus.

“I like my wine,” Thomas repeats, and in response Burr grabs his cock and pumps it a few times. He slides his thumb against the slit with finality and lets go.

“And I like your cock, and you aren’t giving it to me.”

“You’re acting like Hamilton on a Monday.” Thomas puts a hand against Burr’s neck and wraps his fingers around his throat, gently, not a threat but a command. Burr arches into the touch and whimpers slightly. “Give me a minute, Princess. Patience.”

Burr acquiesces. He waits patiently, willing his heart to slow down. Jefferson’s fingers fit like they were made to encircle his neck. He breathes deeply, and when he feels like he can’t wait any longer, he pushes against Jefferson’s hand. A reminder of temperance. Thomas almost pulls back but Burr makes a soft noise and pushes harder against his hand and Jefferson allows him the pressure.

He suddenly understands Hamilton’s all-consuming hunger.

There are long moments that tick by achingly slowly; Burr buries himself in the passage of time, allowing himself to feel the sensations his body is feeding him. He feels himself hard and pulsing and savours the ache, knowing that it can’t be too long before it’s soothed away, either in his own hand or in Jefferson’s. He feels the push of Jefferson’s hand against his throat and, eyes closed, he basks in the rasp in his breathing, the slightest edge of effort now in drawing breath. It’s dangerous without any real risk.

He opens his eyes to find Thomas staring at him hungrily. “Enjoying yourself, Princess?” Thomas asks him.

Burr takes the empty wine glass from his hand, sets it aside, and then pushes Thomas onto his back. “Technically,” he says, swatting one open palm against Jefferson’s thigh, “if I’m a Princess, I outrank you. On your stomach.”

Thomas doesn’t laugh outright, but his eyes sparkle. He rolls obligingly over and Burr plants a kiss on the back of his neck. Slowly, ignoring the pulse in his cock that urges him to hurry, he drags his mouth down the length of Jefferson’s back, leaving bites and kisses as he goes. To his delight, he discovers that the small of Jefferson’s back, just above his ass, is so sensitive as to be almost ticklish, and he takes his time leaving two livid love bites just where Jefferson’s back dimples in.

“Aaron, fuck, don’t keep me waiting,” Thomas grits out.

“Magic word?” Burr asks, and a moment later he is horrified by his boldness.

But Thomas complies instantly, a soft, drawn out, “ _please,_ ” that earns a smack on the ass and the drag of Burr’s tongue up through the cleft of his ass, from his scrotum almost all the way up to his back. The noise Thomas makes when Burr’s tongue meets his hole is absolutely intoxicating and Burr makes a point of taking more long, slow passes, agonizing, making him wait.

When Thomas is grinding his hips down into the bed (and Burr knows the length of his cock is sandwiched between his solid abs and the bamboo sheets, probably leaving slick trails of precome, probably painfully hard, and the thought makes him pant), Burr relents and focuses on Jefferson’s asshole. He works in rough, hard strokes this time, no more of the teasing of the previous night, working him up rather than stringing him out. His tongue works into the tight hole and it clenches eagerly against him.

“Where do you keep your lube?” Burr asks.

“Nightstand, top drawer. Probably have to dig a bit,” comes Jefferson’s answer.

Digging a bit is an understatement. Burr shoves aside three very interesting-looking toys (mostly phallic, but Jefferson is _definitely_ into some weird stuff, and why are they all purple?), a plug, and what seems to be an entire sandwich bag of cock rings in various textures and sizes, before he finds a bottle of lube. “You are a very strange man,” he says as he slicks his hand and works a finger inside himself. “What would you do without me to take such good care of you? I thought you didn’t even like getting fucked.”

“It’s like gas station hot dogs. You _know_ no one actually likes them but sometimes you _need_ one,” Thomas explains. “Can you hurry up a bit, please? You were doing an absolutely amazing job and my ass is getting lonely.”

Burr swats his ass again, hard enough for the smack to echo in the large room, but Thomas did say please, after all. He takes his time working his tongue against Jefferson’s tight hole, loosening him up, as he fits another finger into his own ass, and then a third. It’s a bit of a stretch; he hasn’t taken anything in a while, and he shudders pleasurably at the thought of Thomas, unapologetically huge, claiming him.

“Fuck, Aaron,” Thomas groans.

“Yes, that’s exactly what you’re going to do. Fuck me, Thomas,” Burr tells him. He kisses the ring of Jefferson’s hole tenderly and rolls onto his back. He isn’t nearly loose enough; it’s going to hurt. Burr finds his cock leaking at the thought.

Thomas wastes no time kneeling between Burr’s spread legs and kissing him, hard. His left hand finds Burr’s cock and idly pumps it, and Burr knows where that other hand must be, because there’s a press, without warning, against his ass, and he clenches his teeth and bears down against it.

He’s being stretched suddenly around the broad head of Jefferson’s cock and he finds he’s breathless. Burr fights to get his lungs under control and just as he takes a deep, gasping breath, the head pops through, and there’s a moment of burning and then a clench and then _bliss._

“Fuck, Thomas, oh my God,” Burr hears himself. “Don’t move, God, please, just for a moment, just stay there, you’re _huge,_ Thomas.”

“I know,” Thomas says, and he sounds so insufferably pleased with himself that Burr has to kiss him. He puts so much love into the kiss that he figures Thomas has to understand, finally, how he feels, and he murmurs something that might be affection - or maybe it’s just praise? - because Thomas bucks a little and then holds still.

“Okay,” Burr sighs. “Okay. Go ahead.”

Thomas is surprisingly tender. He fucks slowly, letting Burr get used to every agonizing inch as it slides inside, and Burr allows himself to feel the slow drag as it forces its way in. He’s been fucked before but not like this; it’s not just the size, it’s the knowledge that the man he’s hopelessly in love with is on top of him and filling him, and he feels like his heart is suddenly too large for his chest.

He reaches for Jefferson’s hand and puts it over his throat and whispers, “fuck me, Thomas.”

Thomas loses all pretense of tenderness. He fucks hard, jamming his cock into Burr, and Burr bucks his hips up to meet each thrust, achingly erect and begging for more, deeper, faster, fuck, _Thomas._ Jefferson is bearing down just a little, just enough that Burr feels like a possession. One moment, Jefferson’s hand is there; and the next it’s gone, replaced by teeth, tongue, lips that suck a bruise right into the hollow where Burr’s clavicles meet, where the knot of his tie rests during the day.

For the second time Burr orgasms without realizing it’s about to happen. His cock, trapped between their bodies, slicked with sweat, twitches and pulses, and the come is pressed between them and dripping hot against Burr’s ribs. He shouts Jefferson’s name. The cock inside him drags against his prostate with each thrust and suddenly it’s too much; his cock spasms again, weakly, a final dribble of semen, and then it’s too much and he’s near tears, but he would sooner die than tell Thomas to stop fucking him.

Small mercies - Thomas comes soon after, gasping his name, filling him, and he can only feel a moment of disappointment that he isn’t covered in that load before he registers the fact that his ass is now leaking semen around Jefferson’s cock, sloppy and disgusting. He manages one last low moan before he goes limp from exhaustion.

Thomas pulls out and lays down and Burr is on him, then, kissing him weakly, his limbs shaky.

“Princess,” Thomas murmurs against Burr’s ear, and Burr hums adoringly, his fingers tangling into Jefferson’s hair. He just wants to be close; he wants the warmth, he wants the kindness, he wants Thomas to shower him in affection.

“You bought me flowers,” he says, but there’s so much more he wants to say: _I love you, I need you, every moment I spend with you fills me with joy, I want to be with you, I want to be yours, I can’t believe you fucked me like that, do you love me too?_

“Yes,” Thomas whispers back, and Burr can pretend, in that instant, that he’s responding to all of it, and not just the flowers.

**Author's Note:**

> so "hamilton on a monday". please imagine this.
> 
> imagine ham working in an office that closes for weekends.
> 
> imagine him back at work after being _forced_ to take two days off.
> 
> ham on a monday.


End file.
